


Takes one to know one

by ember_firedrake



Category: Band of Brothers, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Con Artists, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Webgott/White Collar fusion. AU in which Webster is a former con man now working for the FBI, and Liebgott is an old partner who crosses paths with him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takes one to know one

It was a game, Webster admits. A fun one, or he wouldn't have enjoyed running cons with Liebgott so much. Still, there were lines, and with Liebgott it was _always_ a game, regardless of the risk to others. It's why Webster doesn't regret their falling out (mostly), even if it landed him behind bars. 

Still, though, he misses it. Misses the thrill of a well-executed con, misses the high they'd get when they reached the payout. It's why when he sees Liebgott again (always Liebgott now, never _Joe_ , since their paths parted) he can't help hanging around. The weight of the tracker against his ankle a heavy reminder not to stray too far, but the allure of his old life too much to resist. 

Liebgott is sitting on a park bench, looking for all the world like he just happened to be here. Webster knows better. He's felt eyes on him for the past three days, and seeing Liebgott’s familiar profile only confirms his suspicions. 

Liebgott looks _good_. The years have been kind to him, his former lankiness replaced by lean muscle. He turns when Webster approaches, taking a final drag of a cigarette before crushing the butt on the ground. 

“Well, well, never thought I’d see you on the outside again,” he says. Patronizing as his tone is, it’s been so long since Webster heard that voice. He’d forgotten what it could do to him. 

“No thanks to you,” Webster says steadily. 

Liebgott raises his hands in appeasement. “Hey, that’s the game sometimes. We all lose eventually.”

Webster notices a slight rucking of fabric as Liebgott lowers his arms—he’s got a concealed weapon. “Except you?”

Liebgott smirks. “Except me.”

Webster doesn’t rise to the bait, instead nodding at the discarded cigarette. “Littering’s illegal, you know.”

“Well look who became a model citizen after being released. Seriously though, Web, what makes you think I’m going to get brought in on littering charges?”

“What makes you think that’s the only thing they’ll find?” 

And there it is, that hard-edged glint in Liebgott’s eyes, calculating and dangerous and thrilling. Webster hates that he still loves it.

“Let’s take a walk, Web,” Liebgott says, rising from the bench. 

In spite of all the reasons (and there are multitudes) why this is a bad idea, Webster follows Liebgott from the park. They walk along streets through the city, weaving through the crowds. Webster still has a vague idea of where they are, but he admits he’s more focused on the line of Liebgott’s neck, the purposeful stride he takes as he makes another turn down an empty alley. It’s been—christ—four years since they saw each other. 

“Scuttlebutt says you work with the FBI now.”

Webster has been running cons for far too long to betray any emotion when someone discovers the truth about him. And he knows there’s no use keeping up a farce, especially if Liebgott’s had eyes on him for the last several days.

“I work _for_ them, not with them—as a criminal informant. It was a condition of my release. I...identify forgeries, track down suspects, that sort of thing.”

“So you turn over your own kind to get yourself ahead.”

“I haven’t betrayed anyone I know,” Webster says, an edge of bitterness creeping into his tone in spite of his best efforts. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Though he’s a little taller than Liebgott, that never seems to matter when Lieb is in his element. Liebgott steps forward, closing the distance between them. Webster’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Careful, Web. We’re not that different, you and I.”

“I’m not like you,” Webster insists. 

“Really? You honestly think you can leave the life behind, go straight?” He smirks again at the double entendre, that infuriating upward turn of his mouth that makes Webster want to either punch him or kiss him. “How many lies have you told since they let you out?”

“Too many,” Webster admits through gritted teeth. Liebgott is so close, his proximity exhilarating.

“Once a con man, always a con man. But you can’t seem to see the lie you’re telling yourself. Pity.”

Liebgott grabs the lapels of Webster’s suit, pulling him into a crushing kiss. Webster makes a muffled noise—frustration mingled with relief—before he returns the kiss, opening his mouth against Liebgott’s. It’s the longing of four years spent apart, the anger that three and a half of those were spent behind bars. And Webster can’t forget what put him there, can’t forget even though a part of him wishes desperately it had gone differently. The harsh press of Liebgott’s lips is intoxicating, the swipe of his tongue a thrilling reminder of what they once were. It’s been _so long_. Webster groans, stepping forward.

His tracker beeps a warning against his ankle, pulling Webster back to reality in an instant. He’d reached the edge of his radius without realizing. Liebgott takes a backward step, out of Webster’s reach. 

A dozen thoughts are going through his head, chief among those being that Liebgott probably intended this. One look at Liebgott, as he drags a thumb against his reddened lower lip, is all Webster needs to confirm his suspicion. 

"Careful there, Web. Pull the end of your leash a little more and you'll bring the Feds down on us both."

"I could say I was trying to bring you down," Webster points out. 

"A known former associate? And I'm sure your handler either knows or suspects the more intimate details of our partnership. You really want them finding reasons to extend your time? Or send you back to prison?"

Webster calculates his chances, realizes that Liebgott is probably right. His situation is tenuous at best, and it's just as likely Lieb will make an escape in the time it takes a squad car to arrive. 

Liebgott can read in Webster's face the moment he comes to a decision. Webster can con just about anyone, Liebgott being the only exception. 

"How much time you got with that thing, anyway?" Liebgott asks, nodding at Webster's ankle with the tracker. 

"Two years."

Lieb smiles, and it's still got that cunning edge to it, but it's softer. It's the smile Webster fell for when he and Liebgott both found out they were trying to con the same mark, and decided to pool their resources and divide the spoils. 

"I'll see you in two years, then."

"I'm not going back to that life," Webster says, though the argument sounds hollow even to his own ears. 

Joe steps forward again, within the two-mile bubble that is Webster's tracking radius, and rests a hand on his cheek. He kisses Webster, and it still has some of that intensity of before, though maybe now tinged with desperation. 

"I know you, Web," Joe says, before turning to leave, stepping beyond Webster's boundaries as he continues to the other end of the alley. He turns his head back as he reaches the corner. "I _do_ regret what happened." 

The significance hits Web like a punch in the gut as Joe disappears once more. It's probably the closest he'll come to an apology, but Webster nursed his bitterness for years in prison even before the FBI offered him a deal. 

He wants...he _wants_. 

He doesn't know what he wants. 

Webster lets out a breath, turning to make his way back to the populated streets that are safely within the bounds of his radius. He has two years to figure out what he wants.


End file.
